What we want is to pay for what we want
In Which Your Humble Blogger expects the other side to use their language, but would rather our side use our language.
That mountain was so tall, and John Henry was so small
In Which Your Humble Blogger laid down his shovel and he cried, Lord Lord, oh he laid down his shovel and he cried.
Dream Casting
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In Which Your Humble Blogger will probably be on about cross-dressing for months and months.
Switcheroo
In Which Your Humble Blogger hasn’t worn a bra in twenty years.
Eight Days a Week (or five)
In Which some things just set Your Humble Blogger off. You know that.
Wrong, wrong, wrong
In Which Your Humble Blogger is all cross and shit, what with all the killing.
Success! At Failure!
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In Which Your Humble Blogger just sorta hangs around the street corner, waiting for a point to amble into view and then—whammo!—and nuthin’ left but smoke.
One Man in his Time
In Which Your Humble Blogger begins a fifth, I think, Shakespeare production. Fifth? Hamlet, Shrew, R3, As You Like It. Fourth, then. Unless I’m missing one.
About Last Week
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In Which Your Humble Blogger takes his sweet time.
Eighteen is three sixes
In Which Your Humble Blogger thinks that Carl Levin is probably good for another term at least, maybe two. Maybe three?